Beyond Faith
by bleachaddic
Summary: Retake on S01E12 "Faith." Sam had done everything in his power to save his brother after Dean had suffered massive heart damage, but there was nothing he could if Roy didn't chose to heal him. Yet despite suffering horrible pain and sickness, Dean insisted they spend his final days taking down one last monster.
1. Roy LeGrange: Faith Healer

A/N: A retake on season one episode twelve "Faith" if Roy hadn't healed Dean. Chapter 1 of 4.

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><p><strong>Roy LeGrange: Faith Healer<br>**

The drive to Nebraska was long, even with Sam speeding the way he was.

Sam allowed himself a quick glance over to the passenger seat. Dean was sound asleep, his head against the window. There were so many indications that something wasn't right. His skin was too pale, his breath a bit raspy, his hair greasy and limp, one arm across his chest.

Dean had tried to stay awake for as long as possible and keep up the facade of being totally okay despite suffering massive heart damage. But somewhere in midland Missouri, he had drifted off.

Sam tried not to dwell on every hitched breath and painful wince. This faith healer would work, that's for sure. And if it didn't, Sam would just have to find another way. No question about it. Sam just hoped Dean would last long enough.

The Impala pulled into the grassy lot alongside a myriad of other mud-stained cars. It seems the recent rain hadn't discouraged anyone from seeking the healing powers of Roy LeGrange. Mostly Sam was just glad he had managed to get them to the remote spot on time.

Sam found a place to park close to the large, white tent and quickly jumped out to help his brother who had roused when the roar of the engine had cut.

Dean swatted away Sam's help and looked around.

"Man, you are a lying bastard. Thought you said we were going to see a doctor," Dean complained after noticing the wooden painted sign reading _The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness the Miracle._

"I believe I said specialist," Sam replied. "Look, Dean, this guy's suppose to be the real deal."

"I can't believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent." The brothers stopped in front of the tent's opening as a slow mass of people moved past them into the tent. Clearly, some people believed in this man's abilities.

"I mean, c'mon Sam. A faith healer?" Dean asked. He sounded too exhausted to really be angry.

"Maybe it's time to have a little faith, Dean." Sam responded.

Dean scoffed. "You know what I've got faith in? Reality. Knowing what's really going on."

"How can you be a skeptic?" Sam looked at Dean with his puppy dog eyes. "With the things we see everyday."

"Exactly," Dean retorted. "We see them. We know they're real."

"But if you know there's evil out there, how can you not believe there's good out there too?"

"Because I've seen what evil does to good people."

A young woman stepped out from the mass of people to address the boys. What appeared to be her mother stood close beside her.

"Maybe God works in mysterious ways," The younger woman said with a smile.

Instantly changing personas, Dean checked out the attractive woman as he replied "Maybe he does. I think you just turned me around on the subject." The woman laughed slightly in response.

"Yeah, I'm sure," sarcasm evident.

Dean offered his hand for a shake. "I'm Dean. This is Sam."

"Layla." She said as she returned the handshake. "So, if you're not a believer, why are you here?"

Gesturing to Sam, Dean answered "Well, apparently my brother here believes enough for the both of us."

At that point, the mother finally interjected. "Come on, Layla. It's about to start." She put her arm around the girl and led them both into the tent, now crowded with a variety of sick and injured persons and their loved ones.

Sam and Dean followed quickly behind them. Layla and her mother managed to grab two seats in the front row and the Winchester boys found a pair directly behind them.

The service began and an older man climbed on stage. He wore sunglasses despite the dim tent lighting, and introduced himself as Roy LeGrange. The faith healer.

After several minutes of a sermon type speech about God and faith and hope, Roy addressed the crowd.

"This morning God spoke to me. He told me that today we will finally heal one very special lady. I am so happy. This woman has been coming to me for months now and every day I pray that I will finally be able to heal her. Finally, our patience has paid off."

Dean noticed the way Layla's hand tightened around her mother's at Roy's words.

"Layla Rourke, would you please come forward."

Layla immediately threw her arms around her mother in a hug. Her face showed a mix of joy and relief. They had clearly been waiting a long time for this.

"Layla? Are you here?" Roy asked and moved his head about as though he would be able to spot her despite his lack of sight.

Layla immediately let go of her mother and stood up. "Yes, Roy. Yes, I'm here," she said as she hurried onto the stage. She wiped a stray tear off her cheek.

"Well, get on over here," he joking called as he gently waved his arm about looking for her. When he finally made contact with her shoulder, he began his practice.

"Pray with me friends." Roy's voice filled the tent.

Dean rolled his eyes as everyone around him raised their hands in praise. Sam stared forward in wide-eyed amazement. Dean couldn't believe Sam was falling for this snake-oil salesman.

"Alright now, alright now," Roy repeated softly to Layla. He had one hand on top her blonde head and one hand still on her shoulder. After a few moments, Layla began to sway. A few more moments and she collapsed onto the floor.

"Holy shit." Dean said and began to make a move towards the stage, Sam right behind him. Before they even made it to the aisle, though, Layla sat up and blinked several times. She seemed fixated on something behind Roy, but nothing was there. After a moment, she looked around into the crowd.

"I'm cured," she whispered. Then she cried. "I'm cured. Thank you, Roy. Thank you."

Layla's mother moved on stage and helped Layla to her feet. She echoed her thanks to Roy as she made her way out with her healed daughter, still crying hysterical tears of joyful relief.

The crowd began to move again and collectively started to funnel out of the tent. They were happy Layla had been healed, but it didn't take an expert to tell they were more disappointed they hadn't been chosen for healing themselves.

Dean and Sam turned to each other.

"Now do you believe?" Sam asked excitedly.

"Something seems off," Dean noted. "When she first sat up, she was looking at something. She saw something."

Sam sighed angrily. "Can't you just accept it when something good happens?"

"No, Sammy, I can't," Dean winced and clutched at his chest as he tried to stand. Sam instinctively offered a hand which Dean ignored. "If there's one thing I've learned in all my life, it's that good things don't just happen. Especially not when we're around. There is something going on here. We need to get to the bottom of this."

Sam stood and examined Dean's face. It was just as pale as it had been at the hospital, and there were still bags under his eyes despite all the rest he'd gotten on the way over. Even if Sam believed there was a monster there to take down, Dean was in no condition to hunt.

"If there was some kind of monster or demon or whatever," Sam argued, "don't you think I at least would have seen it?"

"Well, excuse me, psychic wonder," Dean leaned heavily against the back of his chair. Sam really wish he would sit back down and rest. "But I've been hunting long enough to know when to trust a feeling like this, okay?"

By the time Dean finished, they were the only ones remaining in the tent except for Roy and his wife. Together the LeGranges approached the two.

"Hello, boys," Mrs. LeGrange greeted them. "Was this your first time witnessing Roy heal someone?"

"Actually, yes," replied Sam.

"It sure is a miracle, isn't it?" She asked with a polite smile.

"Sure was," Sam started. His eyes caught onto Mrs. LeGrange's hands firmly clasped around a wooden beaded necklace. A small cross with a circular top dangled from one side.

"Could you tell us how he does it?" Dean interjected stifling a small wince at the end.

"You don't sound too good, son" Roy stated. It was unsettling the way he could look right at Dean despite his blindness. "Why don't we move inside the house. You can get comfy, rest, and we'll talk over hot tea."

Sam happily accepted the offer and the group finally exited the tent. They moved rather slowly, Roy's wife guided him by the arm and Sam lingered near Dean in case he needed help. He acted fine, but Sam knew his brother too well. He also knew Dean needed to feel strong and independent, so Sam pretended like he wasn't walking unusually slow for his sake.

They eventually made it inside the house, and Dean collapsed into the sofa. It had that characteristic old-person smell, but Dean didn't seem to notice.

Mrs. LeGrange continued into the kitchen and returned moments later with a kettle and four small tea cups.

"I have the tea steep during the service so it's always ready when we finish. Healing can be very tiresome. It's sad that we can't save everyone, but Roy does what he can." Mrs. LeGrange explained while pouring tea. After distributing the cups, she took a seat next to her husband on the couch across from the brothers.

Dean sipped from his tea, made a face, then placed the cup aside. He much preferred the healing properties of a cold beer.

"So tell us," Sam started, switching seamlessly into interrogation mode, "when did Roy start healing people?"

Roy recited his story like he'd been telling it everyday his whole life. "Woke up one morning stone blind. Doctors figured out I had cancer. Told me I had maybe a month. So, uh, we prayed for a miracle." Roy took his wife hands in his without even needing to feel around.

"I was weak, but I told Sue Anne 'You just keep right on praying.' I went into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't wake up, but I did. And the cancer was gone."

Roy removed his sunglasses to show his eyes. The entire lense had turned white. Not even the pupils were visible.

"If it weren't for these eyes, no one would believe I'd ever had it," he finished with a smile.

Dean wasn't immediately sold. "And suddenly you could heal people?"

"I discovered it afterwards, yes. God's blessed me in many ways," Roy looked towards his wife.

"And his flocked just swelled overnight. And this is just the beginning," Sue Anne added.

"Can I just ask one last question?" said Dean.

"Of course."

"How do you choose? Who to heal, I mean. Out of all the sick people, how do you decided who gets to live and who has to die?"

Roy smiled. "Like I said before: The Lord guides me. He chooses who to heal, I just follow his lead."

Dean still wasn't convinced, but Sam had already stood to leave. He thanked their hosts politely for the hospitality, and motioned to Dean that they should leave. Sue Anne guided them out the front door and waved after them as they pulled away in the Impala.

"I don't know, man," Dean said tiredly. "I just don't believe it. Something just doesn't add up."

Sam looked over to his brother. Normally, he would have dug into the conversation and started a lengthy semi-argumentative discussion, but Dean was looking more and more out of it the farther they got from the circus tent church. It had certainly been an eventful day, and the doctor had instructed Dean to get as much rest as possible.

Of course, the doctor also advised strongly against Dean leaving the hospital. He also said Dean was going to die. Screw that doctor.

Sam decided to let the conversation die. They would head to a nearby motel for now, and wait until Roy's next healing session in a week. While they waited, Sam would continue to look for another way to save his brother.

Dean slept with his head against the window, his breath fogging the glass around his mouth. His oversized hoodie made his normally muscular frame look frail. Sam hoped he could save Dean, but mostly he hoped Dean would make it through the night.


	2. Layla Rourke: Faith Healed

**a/n: **Not going to lie, pretty boring chapter. Should be a better one tomorrow. 2/4

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><p><strong>Layla Rourke: Faith Healed<strong>

Sam was already awake on his laptop, making phone calls, and following leads for another cure. He'd gotten maybe, what, three hours of sleep, he thought. It had been late when he dozed off and early when he got back up is all he knew.

Dean began to stir in his sleep. He groaned loudly enough to break Sam from his concentration. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around dazedly.

"What time is it?" Dean asked groggily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He still looked like shit, though. Didn't smell much better either.

Sam glanced at his watch a little surprised. The time had gotten away from him too. The sun cast long rays across the motel beds. His watch read 11:53.

"Almost noon," Sam answered and closed his laptop. "How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Do you feel okay to go out, or do you want me to pick something up? I think I saw a bbq place just down the road."

"Chill, Sammy, one question at a time." It always annoyed Dean when Sam rattled off a hundred questions and treated him like a child. "I just need a quality burger and a nice beer and I'll be fine."

"No beer," Dean glared angrily, but Sam ignored it. Alcohol was definitely not what Dean needed right then. "But I think we can find a diner somewhere in this town."

Reluctantly, Dean agreed and pulled himself out of bed. He seemed to only then notice that he hadn't showered or changed clothes since he bailed on the hospital. He didn't have the energy to care, though, and made his way towards the door leaning on beds, dressers, and walls the whole time.

Sam held the door open, but Dean pretended not to notice.

They found a diner rather quickly. "Mickey's Kitchen" the sign above the door read. "Best Weiners in the State!" announced another sign in the window with a picture of a large man, presumably Mickey, holding a foot long hot dog covered in chili and cheese.

Sam immediately recognized many of the other patrons from LeGrange's yesterday. It seems they weren't the only ones waiting for Roy to grant them a miracle. The whole town must be full of those desperate, but hopeful to be saved.

The hostess, a young ginger girl, took them to a booth in the back. She must have been used to waiting on sick people because Dean's shitty appearance didn't phase her. She passed out the menus and wished them well.

They sat in silence for a while, both too exhausted to hold a conversation. It gave Sam time to study Dean more closely. His eyes looked tired, and he slouched forward like the weight of his own body was too much to carry.

When the waitress came, Sam ordered for both of them. Cheeseburger, extra onions, for Dean, and the Cobb salad for himself.

Only a few minutes after ordering, the jingle of the door opening, signaling to the hostess a new group of customers had arrived, sounded. The hostess led the two new arrivals to the booth across the aisle from the Winchester boys.

"Dean? Sam?"

They looked over in unison. It was Layla and her mother from yesterday. Layla didn't look much different from the day before, but one could tell she was much happier than she had been. Her mother was actually smiling cheerfully.

"Fancy seeing you two here," Layla continued when neither of the boys responded.

"Oh, yeah, Layla," Sam stuttered out. His brain had been functioning slow all week from stress and lack of sleep. "What are you doing here? Weren't you healed? Shouldn't you be heading home?"

Layla blushed a little. "Yes, we just stayed the night. We went to the clinic after the session, and I got a head scan. The results just came back; I'm totally cured. We're here for some lunch, then headed back to Texas."

"That's great," Dean said. It sounded a lot harsher than he had intended. His throat was sore and he had a headache, anyways.

Layla suddenly frowned, "Sorry," she muttered, "I didn't mean to brag. I'm sure Roy will heal you soon. Just hang in there."

"Oh, it's no problem," Dean forced a smile. "Why don't you join us? I actually have some questions for you, if that's okay."

Feeling slightly guilty, Layla accepted the invitation. Sam switched seats to be next to his brother, and the Rourkes slipped into the other side. Layla sat across from Dean on the inside. He looked even worse than yesterday, she noticed. She truly hoped Roy would heal him next.

"When Roy, uh, healed you," Dean began, "you were looking at something, just behind him."

Layla dodged the implied question with a nervous giggle and called the waitress over to order.

"What did you see, Layla?" Sam asked more forcefully.

"It was nothing. I was just a little out of it."

"What did you think you saw?" Dean added. It was impressive how easily the brothers seemed to function as a single person when working.

"Well, I guess, maybe" Layla struggled to find the words. She didn't want to sound crazy in front of these two attractive men. "I thought I saw an angel."

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Layla noticed and blushed more deeply.

"What did the angel look like?" Sam probed.

"Why are you so curious?" Layla dodged the previous question.

Dean cut off Sam's response, "I just want to be prepared for when I get, uh, healed or whatever."

"You know, you never told me what's wrong with you," Layla continued to deflect.

"Don't turn this around on me," Dean replied.

"I've answered all your questions," she cooed. All traces of previous embarassment gone. "Now you have to answer one of mine."

"Heart attack."

Layla's mother gasped in shock, which startled everyone who had momentarily forgotten she was there. "At your age?"

Dean smiled and for a moment looked like his old charming self. "What I can I say? I love burgers."

As though it had been planned, the waitress arrived with the food at that exact moment and slid a large, juicy cheeseburger in front of Dean.

"Now tell me about this angel you saw."

"Fine," Layla said and shot a quick glance towards her mother, who had once again left the conversation and was focused entirely on the food in front of her. She must have still been exhausted after all those months worrying about her daughter, but now that Layla had finally been cured, she could rest, take care of herself, and enjoy life again. Sam could empathise.

"He didn't really look like the angels you see in church paintings. He looked old. Like really old. His entire face was covered in wrinkles, and he was completely bald. He had on a black suit. I only saw him for a moment, but I don't think I'll ever forget his face," Layla recounted her story.

"Did the angel have black eyes?"

"No."

The brothers thought for a moment before Dean whispered under his breath to Sam. "Reaper?"

"What was that?" Layla asked.

"Just a cough," Dean quickly blurted out then mustered up a few fake coughs for good measure.

For the rest of the meal, they dropped the subject of supernatural happenings, and listened as Layla and her mother told them what they planned to do now that she had been healed. It seemed they would return home to Texas where Layla would help her mother run their town's small bed and breakfast. It had been closed since Layla was diagnosed with brain cancer, so they were running a bit thin on cash. But no complaints. They were happy enough to have each other.

Sam promised they'd stop by if they ever found themselves in the area. He was conscious of his use of plural pronouns. There was no doubt in his mind Dean would still be with him months and years from then.

The Rourke's finished their meals quickly and stood to leave.

"Well, good bye, I guess," Layla said more towards Dean than Sam. "And I'll be praying for you."

"It was great to meet you, and thank you for having lunch with us. Good luck in Texas," Sam answered for the both of them.

After the women left, Sam slid back to his original side of the booth. He had already eaten his salad, and was patiently waiting for Dean to finish his burger. Dean had spent the whole meal casually playing with his food. He managed a few bites of the burger before he set it aside. He picked at the fries and rearranged them constantly.

"You ready to go?" Dean broke the silence.

Sam glanced down worriedly at the amount of food still remaining. "You need to eat," he urged.

"I'm not a child, Sammy," Dean retorted, "you don't need to take care of me. You certainly don't need to feed me."

Sam continued to stare at his brother with concern.

"Fine! You win!" Dean grabbed his burger and took an exaggeratedly large bite to spite Sam. He swallowed it dramatically, then paused and closed his eyes. A sudden burst of light-headedness made the room spin around him. He thought he might pass out or at least be sick.

Sam felt awful for forcing Dean to eat. He should recognize that Dean had been feeling nauseous and the food was only making him sicker. He watched his brother sway slightly and he feared he might actually pass out.

After Dean centered himself again, thankfully without losing consciousness, Sam decided he'd had enough. He paid the bill and they left. He briefly considered asking for a to-go box for Dean's remaining burger and fries but ultimately decided it would be better to simply buy new food if Dean got hungry. Something less greasy and fatty would likely be better for the nausea as well.

When they got back to the motel, Dean collapsed on his bed. He kept getting worse, and he knew he couldn't hide it from Sammy for much longer. His chest ached, and his limbs felt heavy. Every move seemed to take ten times the effort it usually did. Sometimes it felt like he couldn't get enough oxygen into his body even though his lungs were working fine. All he wanted to do was sleep.

"What do you think?" Dean asked while lying on his back staring at the ceiling.

Sam still wasn't on board with going on a hunt with Dean in this condition. Honestly, he thought Dean might be too tired at this point to even discuss killing a monster, and that he could just let the subject go until he found a way to save his brother. Sam was pretty sure by then that Dean had been correct in his initial conclusion, that, yes, there was something supernatural occurring here, but he thought Dean's health should take priority over everything else.

"Reaper, most likely," Sam obliged Dean's desire for conversation.

"That's what I thought. But why would a reaper be saving people? Aren't reapers suppose to, you know, reap souls?"

"Maybe he's being controlled somehow," Sam offered. "Or through some kind of deal, like a cross-roads demon."

"Either way," Dean speculated, "it can't be good. These things always come with a price."

"I'm going to see if I can find any unusual happenings or deaths that could correlate to the reaper healings." This would give Dean time to rest while Sam searched the internet and local papers.

"Sounds good, college boy. You hit the books, and I'll catch up on some _Casa Erotica_. I heard the new one's suppose to be the best, but I doubt they can beat the eighth: Tequila Bun Rise. That was classic," Dean joked from his bed.

Sam knew it was all part of the act; Dean didn't even bother to pretend to reach for the remote before he was asleep again.

Sam cracked his back and made himself comfy. He was in for another long night. Not just research, but also watching over his brother. He obsessed over every breath, and found his concentration frequently wavering away from his laptop and onto the rise of fall of his brother's chest.

There was no way in hell Sam was going to let Dean pass uneventfully in his sleep. Their lives were too fucked up for that. Sam wouldn't sleep until he knew he could guarantee Dean would be there when he woke up.


	3. Sam Winchester: Faith Helped

**a/n**: The longest of all the chapters. The next is the last

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><p><strong>Sam Winchester: Faith Helped<strong>

Sam cross referenced every local death for the last six months with the reported healings by Roy LeGrange. Everything lined up perfectly; both the times and causes of death matched up perfectly with the those cured by Roy. There was no denying a reaper was involved. He must be taking the lives of healthy individuals and trading them out with those about to die.

Damn. There was no way Dean would be healed by this guy, not if it meant someone else had to die.

Of course, Dean doesn't need to know, does he? Sam could always wait until after Dean had been healed to tell him.

No, that's ridiculous; Dean would kill him. They had both had enough of lying to each other.

Sam watched his brother sleep on the hard motel mattress. His hair was looking greasy and matted, and his face was sweaty and pale. Sam resolved to get Dean into the shower next time he woke up, or he might just die from poor hygiene habits.

Having finished the necessary research, Sam reached for the remote across the table and flicked on the television. Whatever guest had used it last apparently hadn't bothered to turn the volume down before turning it off, and the sounds of _Casa Erotica 5: Cabana Nights_ filled the room.

"What the hell, man?" Dean called groggily as he sat up in bed.

"Sorry." Sam turned the volume down to just above mute.

"I didn't - uhg," Dean clutched at his chest and his face distorted momentarily in pain, "-know you were into that kind of thing."

Sam looked at his brother with worry, who rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"You are literally the least fine person I have ever met, Dean, even when you aren't dying."

"You got me there." Dean struggled to pull himself off the bed. He finally made it up and over to the bathroom. The short trip had winded him and his breath came out in choppy bursts. He leaned heavily on the sink.

Sam rose from his place at the table and stood in the bathroom doorway while Dean examined his face in the mirror.

It was embarrassing how gross he looked, and Dean felt momentarily ashamed that he'd actually gone out in public and eaten lunch with Layla looking how he did.

"So, what have you found out so far about this reaper?" Dean asked as he fiddled with his hair. He tried to style it how he usually did, but even his hair was tired and it just sagged downwards.

"I cross referenced all the deaths in town with all of Roy's healings for the last six months, and they line-up perfectly. Time and cause of death. I think the reaper is trading one life for another."

"Okay, but why? And how?"

"Well, reapers don't usually do this type of work, so I'm guessing it's being controlled somehow, through like a spell or something," Sam explained, "I think maybe Roy used the reaper to save himself, and now that he has the reaper under his control, is using it to heal other people."

"Again," Dean started to pull off his hoodie. He got it about half way off his head before he stopped. Sam reached over helped it the rest of the way. If Dean noticed the help, he didn't acknowledge it. "Why? As far as I know, he isn't getting anything from healing a bunch of strangers."

"I don't know, but we still need to take him out." Sam watched Dean slowly pull of his white undershirt. He could tell every move hurt and took a lot of effort, but didn't want to offer too much assistance or Dean would get pissy.

The Winchester boys were naturally lean and muscular. Years spent on the road, killing monsters tended to keep a person in good shape. Aside from frequent cuts, bruises, stabbings, and the like.

Dean, however, looked unusually thin, and his muscles were less defined. The pink scar tissue of previous wounds stood out against his pale complexion. It amazed and worried Sam how small Dean had become in just a few days.

"We can't just 'take him out,' Sammy," Dean stated angrily. "He's a person. If we kill him we'd be no better than him."

"So we don't have to kill him," Sam said, "just stop whatever spell he's using."

"Great. Let me just take a shower, get cleaned up, and we'll head out."

Sam watched Dean twist the shower handle on. He had no intention of letting Dean hunt a reaper, but wasn't quite sure when the best time to mention it would be.

Sam was lost in thought watching Dean when the older brother's voice brought him back to reality. "Do you mind?"

Startled, Sam stuttered for words.

"For fuck's sake, Sammy," Dean rolled his eyes, "I'm not going to die naked in the shower. You don't have to watch me constantly. Go get some sleep. You look worse than I do."

"Right, yeah," Sam stuttered and backed out of the bathroom. Dean quickly shut the door after him.

Sam planned to wait on the bed by the bathroom, listening, just in case Dean needed him. Low blood pressure, courtesy of a poorly functioning heart, could cause light headedness and nausea. Dean passing out and cracking his skull open would be the last thing anyone needed.

But Dean was right: Sam was exhausted. He'd barely slept at all since the accident; he'd spent all his spare time looking for solutions.

It didn't take long for Sam to drift off.

He was startled awake again by a loud bang and a grunt. It only took Sam a moment to become aware and jolt to the bathroom door.

"Dean! Are you okay? Dean!" Sam pulled on the handle, but it was locked. He resorted to pounding repeatedly on the door, and just as he resolved to break the door down Dean's voice responded.

"Cool it, Sammy. I'm fine," Dean called. His voice muffled through the door. "I just, uh, slipped. But I'm fine, okay."

Sam stopped pounding, but he didn't back away from the door. He noticed then that the shower had been shut off already, so Dean must be almost done.

A few moments later, the lock clicked open allowing Dean to step out into the room.

He was still mostly wet and held his crumpled up shirt and hoodie in front of his uncovered chest. His jeans sagged a little without a fastened belt. All Sam saw, though, was the quickly forming black eye.

Dean pushed past his giant brother to get to his duffel bag. Without a word, he began pulling out shirts and a jacket. Putting each one on carefully to limit any unnecessary pain.

"Uh," Sam tried to think of the best way to phrase his question. He didn't want Dean to think he was parenting too much, "What happened?"

Dean shrugged his old, green jacket on over an unbuttoned flannel. "Nothing. I just slipped. No big deal. It happens."

"Were you feeling light-headed or nauseous?" Sam pressed.

Dean continued to ruffle through his bag, looking for something. "I said I was fine, Sammy."

"Enough, Dean. You're not fine. You're dying. But if you told me what was going on, I could help you."

Dean stopped digging and turned to look Sam in the eye. "Help me?" he said angrily, "I'm dying, Sammy. Now tell me, how exactly are you going to help me? And don't say faith healer."

Sam felt way worse than he should. He had spent the last few days doing everything in his power to help his brother, but his one lead, Roy LeGrange, had been a bust and now he didn't know what to do.

"I can give you medication. Here take these," Sam passed him an orange bottle from the top of the dresser. Dean wondered momentarily when Sam had gone to a pharmacy.

Dean twirled the bottle around in his hand and skimmed the label. Possible side effects: drowsiness. Exactly what he needed, more sleep. Either way, he tossed two in his mouth and swallowed.

"You ready to go?" Dean asked and pulled out one last item from his bag.

Sam looked startled, "What?"

"To stop Roy's spell."

"Oh, right, yeah," Sam stuttered. He still hadn't come up with a good way to force Dean to sit this one out short of tying him to the bed. Knowing Dean, the stubborn bastard would use his dying breath to crawl to the fight scene and stab one last demon. And Sam too.

Sam therefore settled to let Dean come along. Destroying some reaper spell shouldn't be that dangerous. Roy was blind, for christ's sake.

"Then let's hit it," Dean said momentarily sounding like his old self. The image was ruined though when he pulled a tattered old beanie over his hair causing Sam to smile a little.

"What?" Dean asked as he made his way slowly past Sam and out the door, "it's cold."

It was actually pretty warm. Low blood flow to the extremities meant they would feel cold. It wouldn't surprise Sam to see Dean shivering even with layers of winter clothing.

Together they drove back to Roy's place and Dean complained the entire way that Sam's driving was too rough and he needed to treat his precious Impala with a lot more love or Dean was going to haunt his ass.

"Jesus, Sammy, you're making me sick," Dean joked. "Can't you take those turns any smoother?"

"You're one to talk," Sam teased back, "You drive like the world is Fast & Furious and you're Vin Diesel."

"Oh, shut it," Dean's face suddenly turned green. He had that abrupt feeling in his stomach you get right before you're violently ill.

"Sammy, stop," Dean uttered out quickly, his voice wavering at the end. Sam glanced worriedly over to see his brother with the tell-tale about to wretch face. He slammed on the brakes and the Impala slid to a stop on the shoulder beside a corn field.

Dean immediately threw the door open, the car still rolling slightly, and stuck his head out. Disgusting vomit sounds could be heard over the classic rock cassette tapes which had been playing quietly on the ride over.

Sam knew he should be comforting his brother right then, rubbing circles on his back or whispering comforting words into his ear like nice people did in movies, but instead he just sat in awkward silence and watched Dean empty his stomach on the side of the road.

After a few moments, Dean sat back up and pulled the door shut. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at Sam. "Told you your driving was making me sick."

They drove the rest of the way without incidence. The unexpect bout of sickness was likely a result of taking medication on an empty stomach. Sam really needed to get Dean to eat something.

He'll add that to his to-do list right after stop Dean from dying of massive heart failure.

They pulled up in front of the LeGrange's old wooden house. No sermon was scheduled for the day, so the Impala was the only car around.

Sam pulled guns and other potentially necessary equipment from the secret trunk.

"I'm going to go inside. You just stay here," Sam commanded as he loaded a handgun.

"I did not come all this way to sit on the bench. I'm coming with you," Dean insisted and grabbed a handgun of his own.

Dean could be so stubborn Sam just wanted to handcuff him to the steering wheel and be done with it.

"You can say you're fine until your voice gives out, but you're not. Since you insist on getting yourself killed before you die, the least you could do is not get me killed. What you can do is stay here, keep your phone on, and be a look out. I'll call you if I need backup," Sam demanded, his tone reminding Dean briefly of their father.

Sam slammed the trunk shut and hussled up the front porch, leaving Dean standing alone beside the car. Begrudgingly, he slid back into the Impala and cranked up the AC/DC.

Sam entered the old house with quiet precision. He'd certainly snuck into enough buildings, many way more secure than this one, to know how to go about it.

It was fortunate the house was empty. The LeGrange's must be out to lunch or something. Sam desperately hoped he'd be out before they returned, but also had confidence his brother could find an excuse to hold them off while Sam made a break for it if need be.

Sam moved easily through the living room where they had previously talked with the couple over tea. Beyond that was a small kitchen, and to the left a small office.

He moved into the office. It had clearly been years since any work had been done there. Dust covered the desk, counters, and bookshelf. Sam closely examined the books, all of which had completely ordinary titles like _Encyclopedia of Britannica_. Plus, it was clear none of them had been picked up in years.

Sam was just about to move on when he noticed one book was not covered in dust, indicating it had recently been handled. He pulled it out and flipped through the pages. Nothing demonic there.

As he went to put it back, he noticed a smaller book tucked all the way in the back of the bookcase. He tugged it out of its place to examine it. It was small and black. It didn't have any words of the cover, but a quick flip through showed pictures of skeletons, demons, and reapers.

Sam turned to a page which had been dog-eared. On it was a picture of a fancy cross with a circular top, and a recipe for binding a reaper in latin.

Okay, suspicions confirmed. All Sam had to do was find the alter the recipe described and destroy it.

He returned the books to their rightful spots and left the office.

It took a few tries, but Sam eventually found the door which revealed a staircase into the basement, a perfect place for demonic alters and rituals.

Sam pulled the cord to turn on the dangling light bulb and illuminate the small room.

It was cluttered full of dusty boxes and shelves overflowing with random trinkets and keepsakes. It was difficult to move around all the junk.

Sam could hear a faint rumbling sound like a car in the distance. They must be back, Sam realized.

But he was so close, he just knew it. Dean could stall for five minutes while Sam hurried to stop the spell.

Outside, Dean was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala. He hated that Sam treated him like he was made of glass, but now that he was alone without anyone to judge him, Dean had to admit he wasn't doing to hot.

Sam was gone about ten minutes when Dean heard the sounds of an engine approaching. He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the LeGranges approaching in a yellow pick-up truck.

He quickly texted Sam a warning, then got out and stood beside his car. He'd think of a way to stall soon enough.

The LeGranges parked beside Dean, and got out.

"Dean?" Roy asked. Sue Ann must have noticed him from a ways out and told Roy. "What brings you here?"

"Well, you know, Roy," Dean struggled to think of a good excuse that would buy his brother time, "I came to be healed. I saw Layla the other day. It was truly a miracle."

Roy smiled politely, but Dean noticed Sue Ann looking anxious.

"You'll have to come back on Sunday, when we have a service," Sue Ann blurted out. She tugged at her husband's arm to move inside.

Roy gently pushed his wife's hand away. "Now, now, Sue Ann, you don't need to be so blunt," he said gently, "The poor boy's come all this way. Let's at least let him come inside. Although I can't heal you right now, its true, but we can talk over tea and you'll feel better than. Hopefully the Lord will be able to heal you soon."

Dean noticed Sue Ann becoming increasingly annoyed. "Yes, come inside," she said with a fake politeness, and turned rather quickly to move up the front porch.

Normally Dean would probably be able to find an excuse to keep the conversation going outside, but he was so tired lately. Not just his body, but his mind felt so sluggish.

Fuck it.

Dean delivered a surprisingly powerful right hook to Roy's face. It was a cheap shot on a blind man, but it did the trick and Roy fell to the ground unconscious.

The sudden burst of adrenaline took it out of Dean though, and it occurred to him that he didn't have the strength to do it a second time.

And holy shit, was his heart pumping like crazy. Every beat felt like being punched in the chest. Massive heart failure was a fucking bitch.

While Dean struggled to regain his strength and clutched at his aching chest, Sue Ann moved swiftly in front of him. Dean started to get a punch in, but actually having a functioning heart gave Sue Ann a significant advantage and she landed one on him square in the jar.

Dean was momentarily knocked off his feet and fell into the dirt. His head was spinning, but he wasn't unconscious. He tried to get back up, but stumbled over his own feet as he watched Sue Ann race into her house.

Sam was still fumbling around in the basement when he received a text from Dean.

"Hurry up," it read. Sam knew what it meant the LeGrange's had arrived and that Dean was doing his best to stall.

Sam finally located the altar in the back corner when he heard the sound of a door slamming; Dean must have run out of excuses. He quickly grabbed a bottle of kerosene out of his jacket pocket and poured it over the altar.

Heavy footsteps came from the staircase as Sam quickly pulled out his lighter. He had it held above the altar when he was interrupted.

"Stop what you're doing right now," Sue Ann hissed.

"Why? So you can save people?" Sam shouted back. "You're not saving people, you're killing them!"

"The people who died were sinners. The people Roy saves deserve to live more than those scumbags," Sue Ann reached behind a shelf where Sam couldn't see. "And I can save your brother, too. That's why you came here, right? To save him?"

"Not like this," Sam said and dropped the lighter onto the altar. Flames immediately overtook the table and burned everything on it.

Sue Ann lunged forward, a gun in her hand. She fired wildly at Sam who managed who anticipated the attack and moved out of the way. She fell just short of the fire and turned to fire a second shot.

Sam grabbed the nearest blunt object, a gold painted lamp, and started to swing at Sue Ann's head. He stopped, though, when he noticed Sue Ann was no longer focused on the fight.

She was staring at something behind Sam and mumbling to herself.

"No, no, no" she uttered. Her voice began to rise in fear. "No, please, please. No!"

Sam lowered his weapon, but she continued her babbling. She raised her hands to shield her face and cried out.

"NO!"

Her eyes glazed over completely white. She wobbled a bit, then fell over sideways knocking over a several stacks of dusty books and a rusty metal bucket.

Sam dropped the lamp and stared at Sue Ann's dead body. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened. Perhaps destroying the altar had harmed her in some way, he speculated.

Before he could conjure up a more reasonable explanation, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He answered.

"Sammy?"

"Dean, it's done," Sam said with a sigh of relief, and headed up the stairs. He had to admit that was one of the easiest jobs they'd have had. For once, no one had gotten seriously injured or mortally wounded. If only all their jobs were that simple.

"I think I'm having a heart attack."


	4. Dean Winchester: Faith Saved

**a/n: **Not going to lie, this chapter has a lot of added crap to it. I was about to post when I realized I was just so fucking close to 10k that I felt compelled to add a bunch of stuff.

In unrelated news, I'm currently working on another SPN fic as part of NaNoWriMo. I plan to have it finished by the end of Nov, then spend Dec editing the crap out of it, and will hopefully be posting in Jan. If you enjoyed this fic, you will probably enjoy this next one. It's another what-if type story set around the beginning of Season Two. It's basically exploring what would have happened if John hadn't sold his soul to save Dean, and instead Dean is left to come out of the coma on his own and also deal with its lasting physical effects.

Anyway, final chapter:

* * *

><p><strong>Dean Winchester: Faith Saved<strong>

Sam pressed down hard on his brother's chest. He tried not to focus on what he was doing. Even looking at Dean's pale face, getting whiter by the second, would cause Sam to shut down.

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Repeat. Wait for ambulance.

Where was that goddamn ambulance anyways?

Sam knew every minute he performed CPR made it that much more unlikely his brother would pull through. Scientifically, three minutes without oxygen was enough to kill the human brain.

Regardless, Sam continued pumping and breathing for his brother.

Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes.

The sounds of the ambulance approaching fueled Sam on. Just a few more minutes, Dean. Don't give up now.

When the paramedics arrived, they had to physically pull Sam off his unconscious brother. Sam had become a machine, too afraid to stop for even a second for fear that his brother would die right then.

He was so pale. Sam hadn't thought he could get any paler than he'd been in preceding week, but apparently acute cardiac arrest could do that to a person.

With practiced speed and precision, one paramedic cut open the front of Dean's shirt while the other uncased an AED. They attached the electrodes to his chest and started it up.

Dean's body convulsed with every shock. His back arched and muscles tensed. Sam could only see the irony in that they were trying to save Dean with an electric shock when an electric shock had been what caused the heart damage in the first place.

Between each round, a paramedic put two fingers to Dean's neck and checked for a pulse. When he didn't feel anything, he would signal his partner to try again.

Sam felt hopeless. They had made a life fighting supernatural monsters other people couldn't even imagine in their worst nightmares. They had always pulled through, kicking and fighting and bleeding. But now there was nothing for him to do but watch.

The image of Dean clutching at his chest and shoulder while falling to the ground in a heap stuck in Sam's mind. His own heart had been racing frantically as he ran out of the house to his brother's side.

Dean had just about fallen into the dirt when Sam had caught him. He was groaning and uttering in pain. Sam had tried to reassure him, but Dean was too enveloped in pain to noticed Sam was holding him at all.

Sam had pulled out his cell and dialed 911, silently thanking the gods that a decent signal actually made it to the middle of nowhere Nebraska.

While frantically relaying information to the dispatcher, Sam had kept a careful eye on Dean who continued to groan and claw at his chest. His movements became slower and slower until he was perfectly still. His racked breathes stopping shortly afterwards.

Sam had thrown aside the phone mid-sentence, the paramedics already had enough information to find them, and felt Dean's neck for a pulse. Nothing.

He careful laid his brother down on the dirt and tilted Dean's head back to open his airway, the way he'd been taught all the way back in eighth grade health class.

Back then the exercise had seen so simple. Press down hard on the chest with both hands. Then hold close the nose and breathe twice, checking the abdomen was rising properly. Repeat for two minutes. Try not to look awkward in front of cute girl.

But that had been a plastic dummy, not a real person. Not Dean.

Sam was so thankful then that he had not skipped like his brother. Because while his hands moved automatically, his mind raced frantically. All he could focus on was Dean's lifeless face. His freckles stuck out against his white skin. It would have looked cute, if he wasn't literally dying right then.

His eyes were still open. His vibrant green irises surrounding dilated pupils stared at nothing. Sam could feel him becoming cold as his lips turned blue.

Sam was pulled from his distressing memory when one of the paramedics stood up. He stared at his watch for a second, then said "Time of de-"

"No!" Sam cut him off, and kneeled beside the body of his brother. He took Dean's hand in his own and cried rather harshly, "don't call it. He's not dead yet. There has to be something you can still do. You haven't even put him in the ambulance yet. He isn't even at the hospital!"

Sam knew in that moment he was being childish. He had witnessed plenty of grieving family members refuse to let go long after it was time. Their desperation and refusal to accept reality had always bothered Sam, and he had encouraged each one to move on and make peace. It wasn't healthy otherwise.

The paramedic shook his head dismally. He'd had even more experience than Sam in dealing with grieving families. With rehearsed politeness, he tried to calm Sam down. "Sir, it's time to let him go. We've done all we can."

Sam leaned over his brother. He knew the paramedic was right. Carefully, he pulled off the hat Dean had worn that day because he'd been cold. The low blood pressure had been making him sick all week. Rationally, it was better Dean went sooner than suffer through several more weeks of nausea, light-headedness, and pain.

It still sucked, though.

Sam looked up towards the paramedic who was waiting for Sam to finish grieving to continue. Another man, dressed in a tailored black suit and tie, appeared behind the paramedic. His blue-ish, wrinkled face startled Sam.

The man moved closer, past the paramedic, and kneeled beside Dean's body. Neither of the paramedics acknowledged the man, almost like they didn't see him. They continued watching Sam, who watched the mysterious man.

Sam wanted to shout at the man, tell him to stay away, but no words would come out. His body became paralyzed as well, forcing him to silently watch the man place one large, old hand on Dean's head.

Sam wasn't sure what to expect. He'd lost his last hope a minute ago. But he definitely wasn't expecting Dean to suddenly start breathing again.

Dean gasped and coughed and choked. His eyes were wide and looking all around, either because he didn't know where he was or because he never expected to be there again.

Sam was so startled he couldn't move. The paramedics both pushed him aside, and helped Dean into a sitting position.

"I don't believe it," one uttered. Dean not only had a pulse, but it was strong. As strong as it had been before the heart damage.

Sam glanced around to see if the man was still there. He needed answers. But the man had already disappeared.

A paramedic approached Sam and said they would take Dean back to the hospital for tests and observation. The paramedic himself was in disbelief at Dean's unexpected recovery.

Sam followed the ambulance to the hospital in the Impala. The whole time, he replied what he saw. How the suited-man had placed his hand on Dean and brought him back to life. Then just disappeared.

He thought about it more and about how Layla had described the angel she had seen when she was healed. Was it possible? Were angels real?

But then he thought of the countless books he'd read in research for this hunt. The pictures of reapers. They had all looked different, but were almost unanimously old and dressed in black.

A reaper, though? The angels made more sense.

Reapers didn't bring life, they took it.

Sam thought about Sue Ann and how she'd used a reaper to exchange lives. If this was the reaper she had been controlling, that might explain how she died. She had been screaming at nothing to "stay away" and then her eyes had glazed over, dead.

If the reaper took her life, could he have given it to Dean?

Before Sam could further pursue this train of thought, the entourage arrived the local hospital. It was a small building, old too. There must not be a lot of emergencies in the middle of nowhere Nebraska.

After parking the car and hurrying inside, Sam found Dean sitting on an exam table in the first of two private emergency exam rooms. He looked rather unhappy, considering.

"Those assholes," Dean muttered. He had a bandaid on the inside crook of his right elbow. He saw Sam enter and immediately smiled.

"Hey, Sammy! Am I glad to see you. You got the Impala I assume? Let's go," Dean hopped off the exam table and headed for the door. It was like he'd forgotten all the events of the past week. Like he hadn't just died ten minutes ago.

When Sam didn't move out of the way of the door, Dean grumbled.

"Look, man," Dean explained, "I feel fine. Great actually. Like I did before. I don't know what you did to save me, but thank you. Now can we get out of here. Hospitals bug the crap out of me."

"Dean, I didn't do anything. You died. I couldn't save you."

Dean paused and looked up at his brother quizzically. "So what are you telling me? Am I dead? Is this some kind of afterlife? Because this is a shit afterlife. All those religious books were way off."

"No, no," Sam stuttered, "this is real. After you died, a man appeared. He touched you, and then you were alive again."

"Huh."

"What do you remember?" Sam asked.

Dean thought for a moment. "Well, I remember taking out Roy, but then his psycho wife got a cheap shot on me. I think I passed out for a second. When I got back up, my chest was on fire. I thought I was having a heart attack. I tried to call you. I must have passed out because next thing I was staring at the sky with your ugly mug looking back at me."

"And you feel all better?"

"Yeah, I'm great."

A nurse came up behind Sam right then, and politely pushed him aside to enter the room. She carried a small file folder under her arm.

"Well," the nurse glanced at the name on the chart, "Dean Winchester, according to all your tests there's nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble."

"So can I leave now?" Dean asked.

"Yes, you're free to go," the nurse answered then excused herself to deal with other patients.

The Winchesters quickly left the hospital and drove back to the motel. Dean was ecstatic to be behind the wheel of his baby again, and cranked the music volume to 11.

Dean's shirt had been cut in half by the paramedics, so all he had on was his jacket which exposed his bare chest. It looked better than it had only a day ago, when Dean had undressed to shower. His original muscle mass was back, like it had never been gone. Despite the CPR and AED, no bruising or burns were visible. Whatever healed Dean, healed all of him.

"I'm still trying to figure this out," Sam shouted over AC/DC's "Highway to Hell."

"I'm just happy to be alive," Dean shouted back.

"After I broke the altar, Sue Ann started screaming at nothing. But it was like she was afraid of someone. Someone I couldn't see. Then she just died. Right on the spot. I think, maybe, it was the reaper. Getting revenge on the person who had bound it."

"Makes sense," Dean nodded along.

"And I think the reaper saved you."

"What? Why would the reaper save me? He wasn't bound anymore. He should have killed me. He's a goddamn reaper, Sammy." Dean argued back. His voice was deep and strong like it was suppose to be, not weak and quiet like it had been.

"As thanks, maybe? For freeing it?" Sam speculated.

"You're over thinking this one. Let's just call it a win and be done with it," Dean responded and turned the stereo up, drowning out anything else Sam had to say.

"Yeah, you're right," Sam whispered to himself.

Sam watched the corn fields move past in a blur. The built up exhaustion from the stress of the last week caught up to him. He rest his head against the window, and slept.


End file.
